


Sing In Me, Muse

by Persiflage



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Kiss, Flash Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Matchmaking, Michael is a War Hero, Nightmares, No Mutiny, Philippa Georgiou Lives, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Alternate Season 1, Scars, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Post-alternate-season 1 in which Captain Georgiou was captured by the Klingons, and Michael didn't mutiny.





	Sing In Me, Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Radiolaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/gifts).



> I've no idea what put it into my head that Amanda would enjoy matchmaking between her daughter and her daughter's former Captain, but the Bitch Muse is always in charge, so here, have a flash fic.

“I think I won't have another, thank you,” Captain Georgiou tells Sarek when he offers her another cup of tea. “If you'll excuse me, I will go to bed.”

“Of course,” Sarek says. “Your long incarceration has no doubt had a debilitating effect, emotionally and physically.” 

Michael winces discreetly behind her foster father's back, then ducks her head when she realises Philippa has noticed the wince. 

“Michael, why don't you accompany our guest,” Sarek suggests. 

“Good idea, Father,” Michael says, springing energetically to her feet.

“Just don't stay up all night talking. You have several days to catch up with Captain Georgiou,” Sarek admonishes. 

“I won't,” Michael says firmly, and Philippa can't help wondering if she looks that feeble. 

“Don't stay up all night doing anything else, either,” Amanda adds. Philippa blinks, Michael looks aghast, Spock suddenly enlightened, and Sarek thoroughly startled.

“Mother!” Michael exclaims, now looking mortified. 

Amanda raises her eyebrows, then looks from Michael's obvious embarrassment to what Philippa hopes is her own blandness. “I beg your pardon,” she says, not that she sounds especially sorry, Philippa thinks with sudden affection. “I thought the two of you – never mind.”

“Goodnight everyone,” Michael says firmly, then moves to Philippa’s side. The Captain can’t help noticing that there’s a glint in the young woman’s eyes now, but just what it denotes, she is uncertain.

She calls a goodnight of her own, then allows Michael to usher her out into the vast hallway outside the family room to which they’d retired after dinner.

“Are you alright?” Michael asks solicitously. 

“Tired,” Philippa admits, knowing Michael will understand that she doesn’t just mean from her physiological state, or indeed her mental and emotional state following her long captivity.

The young woman moves in closer and, after a few moments, slips her arm around Philippa’s upper body. She wraps an arm around Michael’s shoulders, grateful for the extra support.

“I’m sorry about Amanda,” she says when they’ve traversed the stairs to the upper level where the personal suites are.

“Don’t be,” Philippa says. 

“She could’ve at least asked me what our relationship status is before jumping to conclusions,” Michael grumbles as she guides Philippa down another vast hallway, then in through the door to her guest suite.

“Have you considered it was a deliberate attempt to provoke the conversation we’re having?” Philippa asks lightly as Michael eases her into the comfortable armchair beside her fireplace where a fire is burning warmly.

Michael snorts. “Knowing my mother, that was the entire plan.” She kneels beside the chair, fiddling with something on or near the floor, then straightens up, her left hand resting lightly on Philippa’s left knee. “I’ve boosted the oxygen levels in your suite,” she says. “Can I get you anything?”

Philippa shakes her head, and covers Michael’s hand with her own. “No, thank you.” She’s only half surprised when Michael shifts to sit on the floor by her feet. 

“Do you want to go first?” the young woman asks.

“Age before beauty?” she asks, teasing.

Michael blinks, her lips parting soundlessly, then she asks, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Utterly gorgeous.”

She swallows, then whispers, “Thank you.” She looks away and Philippa waits to see if there’s anything more she wants to say, and is rewarded by Michael’s mellow voice quietly remarking, “I want you to know that I’m not scared of your scars or your injuries. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

“Thank you, Michael.” She reaches out and cups the other woman’s cheek, rubbing a thumb over her cheekbone, dislodging the single tear that’s just slipped from her eye. “I thought about you a lot while I was imprisoned.”

“I never stopped thinking about you during the war,” Michael says huskily. “I – gained a bit of a reputation amongst certain sections of Starfleet and Command.”

Philippa chuckles weakly. “I’ve heard all about your reputation, Commander.” Michael ducks her head a little. “Katrina was most informative.” 

“I think Admiral Cornwell was the only one who believed me when I told her you weren’t dead. She was the one who, somehow – and I’ve no idea how as she never explained – persuaded Command that I hadn’t gotten you killed by T’Kuvma. Or started the war – she argued that the arrival of the Klingon warrior so quickly implied their intention was to ambush Starfleet, so blaming me was not only unfair, but counter-productive.” 

“A logical deduction, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Yes.” 

“Katrina also told me that you were the one who uncovered Lorca’s duplicity. That if it hadn’t been for you, Command would’ve lost the _Discovery_ because he was so hellbent on getting back to that Mirror Universe, and without that ship and her spore drive we might well have lost the war altogether.”

She sees several emotions play across Michael’s face: pride – she presumes for her logical unravelling of the evidence she uncovered; guilt – perhaps at the knowledge that denying Lorca the chance to take the ship back to his home means the real Lorca is trapped in the Mirror Universe with his crew; pleasure – at being believed, Philippa assumes; regret – presumably because she knows that Admiral Katrina Cornwell and the real Captain Gabriel Lorca were lovers.

“I’m immensely proud of you, Michael. You’ve grown into an extremely competent and capable officer.” She feels in the pocket of her pants and slides out the object that her friend Katrina had given her to pass along. “And Command are so impressed that I’ve been given permission to confirm you in your role as Captain of the _USS Discovery_.”

She offers her palm which holds a badge marked with four gold pips: the rank insignia of a Captain. To her surprise, Michael gently closes her hand around her own, then gets up onto her knees and leans in to press her lips carefully against Philippa’s.

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispers, her mouth warm against her former Captain’s. Then she slides her lips from Philippa’s mouth to her jaw and kisses her way along to Philippa’s ear.

She moans as Michael’s teeth lightly graze her earlobe, then she clasps the young woman’s hips and draws her down onto her lap. 

“Are you sure –” Michael begins softly.

“I’m sure, darling,” Philippa says, then wonders where the endearment came from. But Michael shows no sign of minding or caring as her mouth travels back to Philippa’s, then on to her other ear where her teeth are deployed again.

“Michael,” she gasps, feeling her body stirring with interest as it has not for so long.

“Philippa. My Captain. My friend. My mentor. My Philippa,” murmurs the young woman, punctuating the words with grazing teeth and soft licks of her skin. “You should go to bed.” She buries her face in the crook of Philippa’s neck. “Might I sleep with you? Just sleep, nothing more.”

“You may,” Philippa answers and allows Michael to slip off her lap, ease her up from the chair, then lead her with their hands tightly clasped, through to the bedroom.

She gets undressed with Michael’s help and, for possibly the first time ever since she was rescued by Michael and her little team from the _Discovery_ , she doesn’t flinch at the sight of her scars and mending injuries. Michael slips out of her own clothes, then climbs into bed behind her, and Philippa sighs softly at the comforting sensation of the new Captain’s arms wrapping around her body and holding her firmly. Michael’s body feels solid and powerful at her back.

“I’ve got you, Philippa,” she whispers. “Sleep safely now.”

She wonders whether Michael knows that she’s been having nightmares about the Klingon prison ship, and the hideous ingenuity of L’Rell, who seems to have been T’Kuvma’s chief torturer.

“Thank you, Michael,” she murmurs.

“Any time, Philippa.” The young woman presses her lips to the nape of Philippa’s neck, then begins a quiet humming, and the sound lulls Philippa towards sleep.

“I love you, Michael.” She barely whispers the words, but the young woman must hear because her arms tighten gently around Philippa’s body.

“And I love you.” The humming resumes, and slowly Philippa’s body relaxes and eases into a deep, dreamless sleep. She feels both safe and content.


End file.
